


How Jamal got his Groove back

by Bellsastuff



Category: Empire (TV 2015)
Genre: Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 12:20:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3767950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellsastuff/pseuds/Bellsastuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Jamal met Michael, aka PWP on Fire Island, aka where is the slash fic for this fandom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Jamal got his Groove back

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. So how is there no M/M PWP for Jamal? Seriously, I have been jonesing for it to the extend that I had to end up just writing one myself. Please, people. Join me. Also, please reach out if you are also a fan of this show and a fic writer?

Jamal, as a rule, did not go to gay clubs. 

The idea of the press getting a picture of him and some twink and the inevitable roaring of Lucius was one part of it, but there was more to it. The music sucked, usually some high pitched EDM crap with no real redeeming value, the drinks were watered down and the men were either twinks, dumbasses or creepy.

But it was Pride, his friends had rented a place on Fire Island and Jamal had drunk just enough to not give a fuck about integrity.

At least the club that his friends had selected was playing Delphine, even if it was a remixed version with so many bells and whistles that you could barely hear the vocals. It stank in the club of male sweat and spilled beer and it was all that Jamal could do to keep from hanging his head and conceding to the need to let the beat thrum through him like a plucked string. He could feel the bass in his feet, carrying up to rest over his heart as the sound took his breath away and under that spell, the dance floor welcomed him into it's writhing, humming mass.

Sweat had darkened the back of his shirt by the time that the body that had melded into his, joining him in the dance, tilted his head up to run a hot tongue along Jamal's jaw. His eyelashes felt impossibly heavy with salt and summer but the view was worth it as Jamal's dance partner came into focus.

Pale, pretty, dusky enough to be not entirely white and making the prettiest damned sounds as Jamal slid a leg in between the boy's. It was as though Jesus had looked down on Fire Island and Jamal and decided that the middle Lyon child's dry spell had gone on long enough. And despite the booze that his liver had been fighting desperately to deal with all day, Jamal felt himself painfully hard as he cupped his hands around the delicious swell of the stranger's ass. Kissing him felt as natural as breathing, his mouth tasting like cheap beer and a hint of lime as Jamal's tongue slid between his lips and took what he wanted.

With a sudden roar in his ears, the club came back into focus and Jamal remembered that he did not, as a rule, go to gay clubs. And he had no intention to stay, not now. With one last squeeze to the goddamned delicious ass in his hands, he let his hands move enough to tug onto the pale boy's waistband and give him a tug, putting on his best smug smile as his new friend obediently followed him off of the dance floor, out of the club, and into the bushes.

"You know this is a Fire Island stereotype, right?" The boy said, a wide grin leaving his face, made even prettier by the moonlight. And the Latin inflection to his words made Jamal's heart beat even faster as he pulled him into another kiss, pushing him against a pine tree.

"I'd prefer to call it a classic." Jamal rumbled as he finally leaned back, putting on his best smirk, the one that had turned his last boyfriend to putty into his hands whenever slid it on. The Latino's stomach was soft under Jamal's fingers as he slid his hands up his thin shirt, nipples hardening under his fingers as his partner for the night took the hint and helped to get the shirt off. "You clean?"

"Of course, papi." His new friend purred, the pet name sparking a throb of heat into Jamal's cock. "Name's Michael. You?"

He couldn't help the sigh that left him. This was the worst part, the part where everyone inevitably turned simpering or starstruck. "Jamal. Jamal Lyon." 

Michael cocked his head, showing no more reaction than if Jamal had said he was John Doe. "It's nice to get your name, Jamal, but you're clean, yeah?"

"Oh! Yeah, of course-" He stammered out, barely able to get out the words before Michael had dropped to his knees, fingers deftly undoing the button of his jeans and pulling down his fly before sliding his sinfully slick tongue along the underside of Jamal's cock.

For once, Jamal was grateful for the boner killing effects of alcohol, because it had been months since his dry spell with Derek had begun, which had sounded the death tolls for the end of their relationship weeks ago. And this pretty little Latino and his mouth were about to kill him. "Fuck, that's good." He hissed, watching his fingers slid through Michael's dark curls as he looked up and grinned so sweetly that Jamal's heart felt about to burst. And it was so easy to guide his mouth back onto Jamal's cock, a loud groan easing out of him as was enveloped by tight, hot, sinfully wet heat.

As his knees began to buckle, Jamal pulled up on the curls in his and, pushing Michael back against the tree and pulling his shorts open. Michael's mouth still tasted like lime, but with just enough of musk and salt that Jamal could taste his own precum and it nearly hurt. His spit slicked cock slid against Michael's as he took them both into his hand. Bark rubbed against his free hand as he took hold of one of his firm ass cheeks, thrusting into his hand as he ground Michael into the tree. 

He'd needed this. He'd missed it. As Michael broke the kiss and began to pant harshly into his ear, Jamal fell into the beat of it all again, feeling the rasp of Michael's five o’clock shadow against his cheek and the percussion of their breaths. 'Good enough', he thought, repeating it over and over mentally as a hook curled into his mind and took hold. 

Michael keened, curling his fingers into Jamal's shoulders as his back arched, his seed spilling into Jamal's hands and the sound of that was so pretty that it pushed through the music in his head. He had to bite down hard against the crook of the other boy's pretty pale neck to stifle the grateful groan that left him as he followed suit.

They panted against each other for a moment, the sound of the waves, the wind through the trees and the muffled thump thump thump of the nearby club serving as a soundtrack to ease them back to reality. Jamal let his eyes shut as he burrowed against warm skin, running the tip of his nose against collarbone. 

"I'd... I'd like your number. If that's okay." Michael finally said, voice soft and endearingly hesitant.

Jamal couldn't help his smile as he lifted his head, giving the Latino a lazy kiss. "You know? I'd like that."


End file.
